Image for the poem the last bottle in the world

the last bottle in the world

After dark,
Painted aquarelle with
Raven feathered brush &
Silvered vodka hue -
A life, stilled in silt.

Hung on string of morning dew
Queued ~
Wed canvas wet to womb’ing sun.
It didn’t surprise me
When the sun never rose.

It began raining
Old wives and walking sticks,
The first to the mill always grinds.
What became of the (un)likely lad
Throwing his tattoos around empty beds?

How could I walk
Into life of another,
When an other
Cut my legs to knees.
Colony of ants dragged me from floor.

They taught me to dance again
Eternal swansong ~ dau enaid ond un taith
So glad, in honour, they did.
The sun it rose as crucified rosary
& burnt the gallery to the ground.


Cymru. Two souls, one journey
Written by Strangeways_Rob
Author's Note
#15. Umanoid. Sing me to sleep. It can be the most difficult thing in the world, to learn to love and trust again. ALL STAY SAFE
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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